Let’s face it, I like drinking. Oh, don’t get all uptight on me! I’m not some psycho, boozy, sad 50’s housewife (I’m looking at you, Betty Draper). I just don’t mind having a glass of wine with my ladies every now and then. And when I say every now and then, I mean it in a sad way. Like every six months.
Anyway, on those exceedingly rare occasions when I do get to indulge in a glass of wine, I’m secretly wishing it was something else… That’s right, I am fantasizing about something else when I am snuggling with my lady love red wine…
What is it that could possibly tempt me away from the perfect plummy red beauty of a glass of Shiraz?
Why, a martini of course!
How cool is drinking a martini? The frosty glass, the olives… You just look cooler holding one. How impressed would you be if you were standing next to me at a bar and I said, “I’ll have a vodka martini, dirty, three olives. Shaken, not stirred.”? I’m guessing pretty impressed.
I feel like if I could conquer the martini my life would automatically expand. I would begin jetting off to Europe, calling people “dah-ling”, and wearing red lipstick like some saucy vixen (even though I was genetically cursed with no lips to put it on, thanks Dad).
There is a cool factor to a martini that no other drink could ever possibly hope to capture. Is it because of James Bond? I doubt it. James Bond wishes he was as cool as a martini. Martinis made that man… Okay, I know he’s a badass ladykiller spy too, but whatever! I’m making a point here.
What is it about the martini that has so captured my little imagination?
Perhaps it has something to do with the glass… It has the coolest shape… All, “Hey, I’m drinking out of an upside down triangle on a stick!” Okay, it didn’t sound cool the way I put it, but you’ve seen one so you know what I’m talking about.
I find them so appealing, so alluring. My husband orders them and I gaze at him adoringly… I can’t help myself, he’s just so damn manly ordering that. He becomes a mysterious stranger for a moment (and as any of us old married ladies know, any kind of mystery at this point is a good thing).
Of course I always ask him for a sip. I then gasp, shudder, say, “ppppllllleeeecchhhhhht!!!!” and drink something else as fast as I can to wash away the horrible horrible taste.
Why martini??? Why??? Why can’t you taste better so I can enjoy you like the super cool hep cat I know I am???
In my research for this blog (don’t look so surprised, of course I do research for this masterpiece!!!) , I interviewed my baby brother about his love of the martini. Well, he’s not really a baby, just so you know… I don’t have a weird booze hound infant for a brother, he’s an adult. I definitely do not condone alcoholic babies. They’re usually mean drunks. Anyway, he said that a good martini is like drinking a cloud because it’s all “cool and clean and wonderful tasting.” Now that I’m thinking about it, the martinis I’ve tasted sort of did taste like clouds. Clouds of jet fuel. And burning taste buds. And disappointment.
I guess my tongue just isn’t groovy enough to enjoy the flavor of a martini. I really shouldn’t be surprised, this isn’t the first time my tongue has betrayed me. I tried to say, “Sup?” on more than one occasion when that was a thing and I sounded like a buffoon. And I don’t even want to get into the “You go, girl!” era. Let’s just say no girls were going anywhere when I said it.
Should I give up on this quest to enjoy a martini? I clearly don’t like them. But I can’t, I just can’t let go of the idea of myself with that upside down triangle in my hand. I feel like giving up on the martini is giving up on the part of myself that has the potential to be not a nerd. It’s a very small part of me, but still, it’s something!!!
So, who wants to make me a dirty martini??? I’ll bring the olive juice!!!